Daphne

Lunaris Temple

Medical hand holding is a thing. Temple. Of the Heart....

Persephone opened her eyes more and began to become more alert thanks to the water and the energy returning to her mind. She did not know him and seemed to be helping with the situation though. Daphne did not seem to be hostile to him so she knew Daphne had some idea about the man. “Thanks, Lady…Persephone. Is Adon back? Coswain?” She asked with a look to the door and an effort tomorrow and pushed herself up. Her head still swam and fell back again.

“Oww… Visions suck… You got anything food… Daphne, help her already.. We need you healthy to get married.” She asked as she felt tired, maybe some food would help her feel a little more human and less like she got ran over by a boulder. Her recovery was enough she joked to the Squire, she was perceptive enough to spot the looks they gave, subtle… nope. Flirting yes. But Daphne needed some happiness.

…

Daphne was happier now Persephone was least asking for food, food meant she was vaguely functioning on a better level than before.

Katherine was still worrying Daphne, or…Kat… Kat was the woman she fed water and helped to walk over to the temple, the one who…was cute, about the right height to cuddle…. Bad Daphne. Bad brain…she could flirt later? Once they were safe.

“If…If. We can defend the door, it'd be a narrower approach. not Great but far better than in the open.” Daphne said with more confidence than she started with and moved to feeling better, it would be easier to defend the Temple with its limited access ways. It was a fairly solid structure and better than nothing.

“Magic…Is not my forte, I'm fast, and can be even faster. But i'm no sage” She said with honesty about her abilities, they had to work together, they had to be honest about what they could bring to the fight. “Honestly…I have no clue… most blightborns I encountered…this is nothing like those. Maybe It's the proximity to the dead lands? The heart of the blight? Most people flee the other way if their sane, not build newr it.” Daphne thought about it, they were very close to the light borders and no one had ever really tested the theory, it was far too dangerous and this was why.

“You got dirty alright. Your help is welcome, We hold the door, we have light, we have shelter, and fuel. Rushing is more dangerous than waiting. Plus they are not fast yet.” They could last out for a while if they had to wait, they had two ill / wounded to think about too. They would be slow if they tried to relocate and more vulnerable In the dark streets. That and the less the guards had to be jumpy about the better, she did not want to get a jumpy arrow in the back from a guard with a nervous twitch. She tried to joke and lighten the mood. “Any more and we get a show.” She said with an evident teasing, Daphne was better at setting people at ease than the others.

Daphne was a little distracted by Nathanial that she did not notice Katherine's glances her way and wandering eyes. She inadvertently out on more of a show as she stretched her arms up to free her back up and placed the short sword's weight Off her hip placing them next to her instead of sheathed a matching pair of Lunarian castle forged gladius blades with her master's sigil on the pommel.

It had been a proud moment she had been granted permission to do so. one day shown would earn her own, or be granted use of the family one… but she would have to be family… that might not work as being inducted into a household was a huge thing.

“I've had far worse, and far less pretty company. We might have to share blankets.” Daphne did not even fail to reply to the comment and why… did she do that? Her brain was going ahead of her own brain and just deciding without even giving her sense and reason to have a chance to stop it.

Her eyes registered what she just said and… Sigh. she Could not undo without hurting her, she did not want to hurt Kat. When did she become Kat by her mind's eye. Now she was more alert, she paid a little more attention and Kat seemed pretty even when she was a tired and cold mess from a crime scene. She was no fool and thought she was concerned but she chalk that up as shock as her behaviour seemed odd.

“Its alright, let the shock pass, if you fight it, it's worse.” She said softly dropping next to Kat and talking more quietly, her misdiagnosis of her concerns.

“Breath slowly, feel the warmth soak into you, Sir Abel can wait a little, you cannot help him if you cannot help yourself. One thing at a time.

Everyone has a limit, you're not weak, just taken too much in a short time.” Daphne said trying to do her best and reached over to hold her hand and guide her through the exercise… That was totally needed, Daphne told herself… Normal Sure.. She was just anchoring the Woman… sure…

Totally not enjoying this at all Daphne Brain said to herself as she sat next to the woman enjoying the warmth and her violet eyes tracing her looking for signs of a panic attack. The view was entirely secondary… sure. "Il take good care of her Persephone, you'll get your wedding." She said to the older woman with same tone to not startle her too much.

Mentions
@SpicyMeatball@Echotech71

---

The frenetic energy of the tavern danced around Elio as he watched Aliseth stride away – people dancing, talking, laughing, the grunt of chairs and screech of utensils against plates, the firelight painting everything in shifting shadows, all filled the air until the tavern was nearly bursting with life. In the center of it all, Elio was still as stone. The music swallowed the sound of the door closing as Aliseth stepped outside. Elio’s eyes narrowed.

What the fuck was that?

Aliseth had smiled at him, cold and detached – and then he’d asked if he could identify Zeph’s body, with urgency he hadn’t had for the entire rest of the conversation.

Elio’s back was stiff, muscles taut. He hadn’t moved from his position of leaning against the bar. His fists tightened, elbows still propped up on the bar’s surface. His mind worked its way back through the conversation, even as he held back the urge to just say screw it and head to the temple to make sure Zeph wasn’t a pasty-ass corpse. There were so few people he tolerated long-term in Dawnhaven.

Earlier today, he would’ve counted Aliseth amongst their number.

He would’ve hauled off on anyone else who’d looked at him like that, after talking to him like that. He’d started brawls over less. Aliseth had looked worse for wear, clearly involved in some sort of fight. What, had it scrambled his brain? Was the trauma of whatever had happened breaking him? And if it was… why did the body of the guard even need to be identified if Aliseth had been there? Unless the feral had attacked at different times, going after guards one by one. And if that was the case, why the fuck was Aliseth lounging around instead of working?

There was movement next to Elio. He didn’t care.

At least… he didn’t until he caught a flash of violet in his periphery.

His firelight eyes flicked over. A blight-born was sitting next to him, trying to make herself as small and unobtrusive as possible – wasted effort, really. There was no way she couldn’t draw attention and take up space, with her eyes and skin and wings. Elio spent another moment looking at her out of the corner of his eye. Then he turned his head towards her to properly examine her, his eyes still flinty, muscles still rigid.

Aliseth knew her. He’d been livid at the sight of her. This wasn’t unusual. Maybe the intensity of his anger was noteworthy, but he’d never been a friend to blight-born. But he’d clearly taken issue with her in a way he simply hadn’t with the barkeep, and that gave Elio pause.

“That guard who left,” he said to her. He didn’t bother with introductions, his usual woven tapestry of words and movement and proximity to edge his way under someone else’s skin. He was no longer interested in games. “Kain. You know him.”

Nesna paused her idle stirrings of the soup and froze for a moment, clearly thinking of her response carefully before speaking. She set her spoon down against the side of the bowl and took a small sip of wine before she responded to the man. After covering her mouth to swallow quickly, she softly offered, “We’ve become acquainted.” After another brief pause, she turned her head slightly to get a better look at the man. Her lilac-purple eyes all widened at the sight of him, and the side of her mouth curled into an awkward, nervous smile, “Why do you ask?”

Elio catalogued the way she moved, back straight, gloved hand daintily lifting to her mouth, voice light and proper – she moved like someone who’d been trained to move this way, with prim etiquette classes and discerning parents.

A new theory: maybe more money meant the more fucked up you looked if you managed to walk out of the blight alive.

He watched her smile waver as she took him in. Useful.

“He hates you.” His words were a blunt tool. Then he forced his muscles to relax slightly, his fists to unclench. His eyes weren’t quite so hard, though they were still intently focused on her. “Don’t take it personally, he’s a prick,” he said, smoothing out the rough edges of his voice. “I’m impressed, is all.”

Nesna nodded skeptically at first, and then seemed to relax. Letting out a sigh, she held a gloved hand up to her chest. It was good to hear that she wasn’t the only one to have gotten such an unpleasant taste from Aliseth’s temperament. But what else did this man mean?

“It’s easy to hate a creature like myself,” she affirmed matter-of-factly, “I wouldn’t have imagined taking it personally. I gather he’s just temperamental. One doesn’t find a profession in bearing weapons without having a bit of a certain…disposition…about oneself, I imagine. But I’m afraid I don’t quite understand. Impressed? Whatever could be impressive? I suppose he’s handled taking a beating well enough. Is that to what you are referring?”

Elio’s eyes sharpened as he latched onto her words.

“Did you see it? That beating he took.” He paused, before finally turning in his seat to face her. “I’ve seen him hate blight-born before. Often. With zeal.” It wasn’t an uncommon sentiment. Elio hadn’t been one for blighters either, until curiosity had gotten the better of him those first few days in Dawnhaven. Turned out sex was great for desensitization.

Elio made a show of looking around the tavern, waving a hand lazily to gesture to the crowd. “A dozen of them here, in this room, and he didn’t spare a glance or a glare at any – except you. Whatever acquaintance you made, must’ve left an impact.” Elio leaned towards her slightly. “So what was it?”

Why was Aliseth acting like this?

Nesna at first leaned away from Elio as he leaned towards her. Her eyes settled into their more melancholy resting expression as her lips pulled into a small frown.

“I’m afraid our disagreement is still rather fresh in his mind,” she lamented, lifting a hand to her face and tracing it down her cheek slowly, “I didn’t see the beating he took myself; I’ve only just arrived. But you see…he saw fit to interrupt a perfectly adequate hailing I was already in the midst of receiving from one Guard Hale, and then dragged the three of us up before the head of the guards. I don’t imagine he—Guard Kain, that is—is in his right mind at this point. Though ultimately our disagreement is only distinct to him, I imagine, because he ventured to overstep.”

Nesna looked back to her soup and gave it an idle stir, before looking to Elio again, and adding, “I will not abide by being manhandled. You know, underneath all of this rot, I’m still a woman. And I haven’t any respect for a man who sees fit to shove a woman. It simply isn’t decent.

“Evidently, he felt otherwise, though.”

Nesna wrinkled her nose in disgust as she spoke about the behaviour, then let go of the spoon in her bowl without eating anything. Instead, she took her cup in hand and sipped.

Sitting in his chair listening to Nesna speak, Elio had again turned to stone. His expression remained unchanged, even as his eyes darkened and anger began to simmer beneath his skin.

“I’m sorry you had such a rude reception in Dawnhaven – shame, too. Zephyros Hale is as warm a welcome you could hope to receive. But Kain – he seems out of sorts today. Surviving an attack, the death of a guard… he was rattled by the time he got to you and Hale, I’m sure.”

Nesna offered a smile as her expression warmed again. She nodded as Elio offered consolation, and her eyes brightened as conversation returned to Zephyros for a moment. She seemed to clench her jaw as Elio commented on Aliseth’s state, clearly refraining from commentary.

‘And I’ve died before, but I didn’t make it anyone else’s problem when I did,’ she thought to herself. It was just typical enough. So much whinging and bellyaching from people who knew very well what they’d signed up for. If one couldn’t handle seeing one’s compatriot die, why go for such a job in the first place? The world could always use more tailors, bakers, and so forth. Nesna’s expression as Elio spoke of Aliseth seemed as unsympathetic as her thoughts actually were, though her expression softened quickly as she offered her own response.

“Yes, Zephyros, I would call him a gentleman,” she nodded. “I’ve heard about all of this fuss. I gather it was quite the incident, wasn’t it? I’m just worried about the princess. I do hope that creature that got up to the attack hasn’t done any lasting damage. Is there any news as to where Her Majesty is?”

Elio’s thoughts of the fresh murder he was planning halted in their tracks.

The anger had turned to rage in his blood when the woman across from him didn’t contradict his timeline – that the attack and murder of a guard had happened before Aliseth had seen her and Zeph together, which meant he knew damn fucking well that Zeph’s body wasn’t cooling on a slab somewhere.

Why tell him that, then? Aliseth’s soft, cold smile flashed in his mind again. Aliseth was a lot of things – cocky, took his job too seriously, had a mean streak when he wanted — but this was different. Elio often did his best to get under his skin (successfully (and in his pants (successfully))), but Aliseth wouldn’t just… lie about Zeph being dead. To what end? To fuck with him? And he’d… what, shoved this blight-born?

…Well, that he could see.

It was only the mention of the princess that cut through his thoughts. Elio focused on Nesna again, his dark eyebrows drawing together.

The princess was the target of the attack and a feral was on the loose. And she was missing? How, in the name of Jericho’s white ass, had they not already sounded a settlement-wide alert?

Well done Astaros, real tight ship you run.

“They’re keeping word about it quiet,” Elio replied, his smile easy even as his fingers started to tap against his thigh. “Lots to deal with, and they can’t have a panic spreading through town. Find the perpetrator, secure the princess, keep everyone else calm and safe…” …Hook up with an old flame, let a feral into town, get a guard killed…

“I wouldn’t worry, though. If there’s one thing the prince excels at, it’s multitasking.”

Another question popped into Elio’s mind: how did this woman know so much about —

She’d said Aliseth had dragged the three of them before the head guard… the captain? Had Aliseth made the incident report in front of her?

“Just such a shame about the princess’ guard,” Elio said, resting against the bar as he watched her pale eyes. “I don’t know if they could afford to lose that one.”

Nesna tilted her head and nodded sympathetically as Elio noted the gravity of the situation—and how imprudent it would be to make a fuss. Her eyebrows bent into a grave, saddened expression and her eyes closed in long blinks as she nodded along. The man seemed so at ease, much more so than anyone else around who had an inkling as to what had taken place. It was strange. In a way, it was comforting, but it was also confusing. He didn’t very much seem like the sort to be some public leader, professing calm in times of strife. But perhaps looks could be deceiving. If looks made one, after all, Nesna imagined she’d have no business bothering with a spoon at all. Or a bowl, for that matter.

“Good help is hard to come by,” Nesna agreed. Her tone was flat as she recited the adage, clearly aware of the cliché but not having bothered to consider another way of saying it. As she continued, her tone returned to the gentler, more restrained pattern she had been taking. The rest of her expression remained unwavering—somewhere between tired, grave, and passively worried. The dull glow of her eyes remained constant as she looked in his direction, endeavouring to make eye contact even despite the lack of pupils to affirm such a thing. Nesna rarely blinked, and when she did, her eyelids seemed to move with an unexpected weight. It wasn’t quite a staring contest, but the static nature of her eyes themselves made it sometimes seem as if she was, in fact, staring, regardless of her intent.

“I gather that even most of the guards who are here already aren’t entirely too keen on staying longer than they must. Finding out about…Abel—I’m inclined to say Abel was the name Guard Kain had said—the death of a guard, a royal guard, in any case, is probably going to dissuade even those who were willing, in principle, to come out to this distant place. I would loath to find myself in the position of recruiting guards to come and work here. I can’t imagine it’s an easy job on the best of days…”

Nesna drifted off, and again, her attention turned briefly to her soup. Steam was still rising from it. With a sigh, Nesna sipped her wine again.

Abel.

Elio’s mind worked. He didn’t know the man personally – just by reputation, and whatever Aliseth and Zeph had said about him. If Aliseth was involved in the attack, then it made sense that Abel had been there too. That the feral had managed to kill him, though…

Yeah, that would’ve fucked Aliseth up. The old man had practically been his mentor. Slowly, a picture was assembling itself in Elio’s mind. Aliseth and Abel had been with the princess, a feral attacked, killed Abel, knocked Aliseth around, hurt the princess… but she was missing, apparently. Kidnapped?

Aliseth had said the suspect had psychic magic. If it’d been used on him, maybe that, coupled with the loss of Abel, could explain why he was being such a dickwad. His thoughts lingered on the guard, and their strange conversation – that smile, before he’d implied Zeph was dead. Something cold sat in the pit of his stomach.

Elio was still missing pieces.

His eyes were still on her though his attention strayed. “Dangerous world out there,” he agreed, his voice softer than it’d been. He refocused on her, looking her over again. She was new in town. Blight-born. Could probably do some damage – but if she was a suspect, she would’ve been locked up in that half-finished jail by now, especially with the venom Aliseth had shot at her. He was a witness. He would’ve just named her the culprit and been done with it, if it were true. No, that she was still out and about with all this chaos apparently brewing in Dawnhaven, meant she was cleared. Either that, or the guards really were piss poor at their jobs.

“All the more reason to be thankful for the guards we have left,” he said, flashing her a smile. Elio shifted in his seat, pushing himself up to stand. “I’d try to keep my head down if I were you, pet.” Unfortunately for Aliseth Kain, Elio would be doing no such thing. He flexed his hands. “But I should be getting to work by now.” Tilting his neck this way and that, he felt the stretch and pop of his joints as he rolled his shoulders back. Energy thrummed under his skin, like ozone building before a storm. He cast a look back over to her.

“Thanks for the conversation. It was just what I needed.”

Nesna gave Elio a confused look at being called a “pet,” but said nothing of it as the man hurried to rise.

“Happy to help…”

Elio strode out the tavern door, steps sure as he traveled over the stone he’d laid with his own hands.

"Ha!" Zeph burst into laughter at the prisoner’s suggestion of dropping a key, the sound bouncing off cold stone walls. "How dumb do you think I am?" he grinned, his tone laced with mock offense. "C'mon, I’m not as daft as I look. You wound me!" he said, putting a hand theatrically over his chest as if the idea had actually hurt.

Shifting his position, he pushed himself upright, the humor beginning to fade from his expression as Gadez’s words started to sink in. “Let’s backtrack.” he said, hazel eyes narrowing as he tried to piece together the odd and cryptic bits of the prisoner's monologue.

"You mentioned a dark-haired boy earlier—the 'wolf.' Are you saying this boy is the one who attacked the Princess?" he asked, a brow arched in curiosity. "What’s his connection to you? Why would he come after you?" He paused, the pieces not quite fitting together. "And what’s his interest in the Princess? You know where she is?"

The playful tone from before was gone, replaced by a genuine interest in answers. Still, Zeph wasn’t naive enough to expect a straightforward reply. Riddles seemed to be Gadez’s preferred language.

Before Gadez could answer, something else clicked in Zeph’s mind. “Wait…” His expression shifted, brows furrowing as he recalled another detail. “Younger brother?” he echoed, his gaze locking onto Gadez, who lounged smugly on the pathetic excuse for a bed. “You talkin’ ‘bout the Prince?”

His tone carried a sharp edge of skepticism, though he couldn’t help himself as a wry smirk curled onto his lips. “You another one of Auric’s so-called bastards, then?” he asked, the amusement creeping back into his voice. “Ah… Aren’t we all?”

---

_{Interactions: Gadez @Dezuel}

Gadez Paladice

"Hnn...hnn... I do not judge a book by it's cover, neither by the title, the condition of the pages or how reviled or praised it is by others. What matters the most is what it contains." Gadez said in a soft tone, walking up close to the bars that separated the two and looked into Zeph's hazel eyes with his own ghostly blue.

"A bastard of Auric hm? I am certain there are others which would make such a preposterous claim, but why in the world would someone like -that- man repeat his mis-steps of the past? When that little thing has no doubt kept him sweating at nights. Did that child perish in the fire... or did he light it himself to elude him?" The blonde man chuckled, his gaze and body unflinching.

"The truth is often sought, but once presented with it, could you tell it apart from fairytales? A bastard. What makes one such? Is it because of a birth outside of wedlock?" Gadez asked as he allowed his blonde hair momentarily fall over his eyes, shade falling over the top part of his face.

"But there's another meaning of the word." He leaned in closely to the bars and lowered his voice.

"Hybrid." He said in a hushed, if not abit dramatic tone of voice.

"You are too harsh on yourself, you are not daft, but are clever enough to see the truth and aid yourself? We shall see..." He looked upwards, his hair moving away from his eyes momentarily.

'So that foolish boy decided to attack Amaya? As I suspected, he couldn't take no for an answer. But she is now missing? How you spoil a prisoner with the latest news, Zephyros.' The gardener thought to himself as he lowered his voice.

"Indeed. If there would be an attack upon the princess, I would think he'd be the one. As to our connection? I tried to have him unhand the girl, much to his displeasure. But the princess in her youthful pride decided to lead said boy away, arm in arm If my memory serves me right. Accompanied by her palehaired female friend, two guardsmen by the looks of it and... a little kittycat." He chuckled at the last part before blowing some air out of his mouth.

"Looked like they were heading away from the inn, towards the outskirts perhaps? Not to worry, I already alerted my younger brother, Flynn of her situation. That was before my rather eventful meeting with the champion of folly. Hahah... but now we are here, right where the pathways in the maze of life has led us. Fortunately for you Zephyros, I have something you need, and you have the key to this cell and may have me released from here. Question is, are you willing to make such a bargain?" The blonde man smiled and went over towards the wall, looking up at the window far above.

"Get me some parchment and some coal, and I may draw the face of that boy upon it. To be able to provide the face of the princess attacker so early on by a guardsman like yourself may earn you not only prestige. But perhaps a rise in rank amidst your peers, but the favor of the prince and princess for aiding in capturing that young fool too. Coming to think of it, it's very...convenient of said... self-proclaimed champion of Aelios to seal away a man who knew about all of this, wouldn't you say? Perhaps you've ought to bring her here just to be safe that she didn't orchestrate this attack I hear the adjacent cell is even more welcoming than this one. No better place to make ones prayers in neither. Such solitude. Barring the temples." He spoke in a shrewd manner, but couldn't help but snicker at the end, while tapping his temple with a finger.

Sya was unsure…she seemed entirely happy and the cheerful tavern keeper but Eris ..her friend had not come yet? The murder? Had she lost her friend? Would she turn up, Syas mind swam with so many possible options she had to steady herself behind the bar and her staff gave a worried glance but were too busy to intervene.

Her tail dropped slightly, it seemed it actively reacted to her thought…and emotional state as she was caught in a thought that she might have lost a friend, and she had precious few of those people in Dawnhaven. She looked out as her mind was making her feel worse, Nesna and Ellio the towns rogue Where having a rather long chat. Did they know each other? Surely not.. Was their gossip to be found?

The trader seemed to have concluded his business though, and not for the negative. That was good, she would get a better price If trade was not down in the dumps, you had to be attentive to get the most, and Sya might be a blight twice over, she was no foolish business woman.

Sya was overwhelmed and needed a break, she needed some space and time to master her rather volatile emotions, lately everything she felt was so powerful… “il taking a break, please ask Becky or Vala if you need anything.” Sya said politely to those at the bar, clearly off balance, not as perky and she slithered her way upstairs weaving why though the people and tables and found the snug was already taken. She took the stairs up to her floor and fell into a help with her tail haphazardly about her.

She looked down at herself, long almost cobalt coloured scales covering her tail? With all that changed? Who was she anymore? Who were her friends and who would be the people she could hug and share her success with? Share her achievements and what she achieved?

She finally let the tears fall and let her overwhelmed heart Have a moment to try and process things… Sya was…overloaded and she needed a little break. The pillows she rested against ehere soft and it felt nice, sofas and other things did not work for her now.

One small hand traced the hem of her dress, pretty blue fabric and down to her where the skin changed into cobalt, smooth and cooler to the touch, firmer and felt how they had a subtle layering and direction to them. How when she moved her hand wander along.

Turning her head out the large windows of the snug she saw the moon glowing in the sky and faint tint of purple in the farthest distances interacting with the sky. The lands she so feared, Sya doubted many would be able to tell the subtle differences, the things only she had the joy and pain to see.

Sya just wanted to know if her friend would remain so right now, also she wanted to change... it was dirty and she liked this dress. It needed care. Like Sya did.

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(You made sad Snake)

Aurora Halliwell

Eye of The Beholder
In the Temple

---

As she stepped into the temple, she was immediately struck by its vastness and breathtaking beauty. The high-valued ceilings were adorned with intricate carvings and vibrant murals that depicted scenes of divine serenity and celestial beings. Compared to the humble temple in her village, this sanctuary felt like a grand cathedral, filled with ornate details at every turn. The flickering light from candles cast a warm glow across the polished stone floor, making the whole space feel alive with reverence.

She took a deep breath, her heart pounding with a mix of awe and nostalgia, she began to slowly walk down the main aisle. Her eyes darted from one beautiful feature to another, the elegant stained glass windows, that she knew if only there was sunlight, there would be a kaleidoscope of colours.

As she continued to move forward, a sense of peace enveloped her, momentarily easing the weight of her memories. It was at that moment that she noticed a small alcove to the right of her, illuminated by a cluster of candles, each flame flickering gently as if whispering prayers of their own. Drawn to it she approached and felt an overwhelming urge to connect with her past.

Kneeling before the candlelit space, Aurora closed her eyes and bowed her head. She took a moment to gather her thoughts, recalling the laughter and love of her parents. With a heart full of emotion, she whispered a silent prayer, I hope you are both in a beautiful and peaceful place, surrounded by all the things that bring you joy. I miss you both more than words can express and every day I think about the memories we shared. I want you to know that I am committed to working hard and making choices that will make you proud of me. Your guidance and love continue to inspire me as I navigate through life. She poured her gratitude and longing into every word. Afterwards, she lit a candle, watching as the flame ignited with a soft crackle, sending a plume of smoke upward - a symbol of her hopes and memories rising to the heavens. In that moment, the temple felt not just like a place of worship, but a bridge connecting her to those she had lost, filling her with a profound sense of solace. She then went and sat quietly on a seat near the candles, and watched the flame flicker and crackle.

Zeph pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment as Gadez evaded answering anything in a straightforward manner. ‘What a lunatic…’ he thought, though a half-smile remained on his lips. Zephyros himself had dabbled in dancing around the truth, but Gadez had made an art out of it.

Still, something about the man’s words gnawed at the edges of his skepticism. Zeph genuinely didn't care whether Gadez was an Astaros bastard or not—Kings did as they pleased, and such preposterous claims were hardly rare. What difference did it make? The details Gadez shared about the incident with the Princess, however, gave him pause.

The mention of the Princess luring the attacker toward the outskirts of town stuck with him. Aliseth had said the Princess had escorted the blight-born on her own accord as well, which was unusual. Was it a coincidence, or could Gadez actually be telling the truth?

If there was even a sliver of truth to what Gadez said, then maybe it was worth reporting.

When Gadez claimed he had something Zeph needed, an amused scoff slipped past his lips. As if anyone in this town had anything he needed.

The notion nearly made him laugh out loud as Gadez tried to entice him with fantasies of prestige and status. Titles were utterly meaningless to a soul like Zeph’s, a restless one that only ever found fleeting moments of peace. If he had ever craved validation, his path would have never led him to Dawnhaven.

Sure, he hoped the blight-born would be found. Abel deserved justice and Zeph held no ill will toward the Princess—he barely knew anything about her. But being the one to find the killer meant little to Zeph. The praise of others always rang hollow in the end.

“Alright.” Zeph said at last, rising to his feet. "Tell you what—I’ll get you the coal. You’ll draw the wolf. And I’ll even consider arresting the Champion for you.” His gaze locked onto Gadez, who remained fixated on the far window that allowed a faint sliver of moonlight into the cell.

“I’m sure if your little brother will be on his way to release you before the sun rises, don’t worry.” He flashed a grin, then shoved the stool back into the corner with his boot, the scrape of wood against stone echoing through the hall.

“Don’t miss me too much.” he called over his shoulder, waving with his fingers as he turned to leave.

Outside the jail, Zeph clapped the guard at the door firmly on the shoulder. “Your lucky day,” he said cheerfully. “You’re on prisoner duty now. I’ve got important news to pass along to Volkov.”

The older guard looked at him silently for a few moments, incredulous. "Fine." he muttered finally, sliding his torch back into its mount on the wall. “But find someone to cover my post.” the other man grumbled, opening the door to enter. “Freezin’ me ass off anyway.”

Zeph turned to scan the street, his eyes tracking the passing soldiers. Most were either rushing off toward the crime scene or stationed elsewhere, neck-deep in their own tasks. Then his gaze landed on a young soldier who looked adrift in the chaos.

“OI!” Zeph called, staring at him from across the street. The man froze, confusion written on his face. When their eyes finally met, Zeph pointed at him.

“You.” he ordered, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the vacant post.

The man hesitated, glancing around before shuffling toward the door. He looked nervous, but thankfully for Zeph, he complied and quietly took up the position by the door.

“Good man.” Zeph said, moving past him and offering two solid pats on the chest as he went.

---

_{Interactions: Gadez @Dezuel}

Nathaniel Stormlight

---

Location: The Lunarian temple.

---

Nathaniel shook his head, the blood that was in his hair was slowly beginning to dry, making his head itch. He let out a heavy sigh; from what he could gather, he looked like a complete mess. Probably smelled bad too. What he wouldn't give to have a nice soak in the bath to wash this blood, grime and Goddess knows what.

His attention went to the front door that was closed. The large wooden doors could be indeed beneficial for a defensive purpose. Assuming that they don't get obliterated. "For we need to get these two to a safe location, further inside. The temple for sanctuary.” Nathaniel mentioned to Daphne. His gaze shifted to Katerine, then to The redhead Persephone, then back to Daphne. "Can you help them grab their stuff? Once done, have them hide somewhere safe. Keep them safe.” A smile came across his face when he spoke. "I can move some of the benches in front as a makeshift barricade. The best we can do is hold a defence. Until we get help.”

Nathaniel brought a hand to his temple, thinking of another strategic idea that could be applied that could ensure their survival. With the limited amount of people here, it could be somewhat of a blessing, since there are only four people here. So long as they they stay quiet. But for now, perhaps barring one of the big days, it will be the best idea.

Striding towards some of the benches. He tested its weight to see if it was easy to move; it was doable, but no doubt it'd be difficult. Placing his hands on one of the ends of a bench, he pushes it, the legs of the bench grinding on the stone surface of the temple floor. It takes quite a few attempts to push one to the closed door. Eventually, the end of the bench made a solid thump as it hit the door.

Once one was in place he went to push another one to the same door, then another. Three benches were in place, Nathaniel wiped the sweat that was building up on his forehead with his coat sleeve. He wasn't done. Spotting a brazier near the entrance of the door that wasn't barricaded, he decided that it would help indicate that people entered by seeing their shadows pass on the walls. With a click of his fingers, a small cinder erupted from the tips of his thumbs and fingers, and then he let the cinders drift on the flint wood that was left in the brazier, seconds past, then the wood became fuel to a flame that quickly came to life. Satisfied with it, a smile came across his face; it felt more like a mask at this point since he had no idea if this was going to work, but as long it gave the others hope, perhaps it'd be enough. Walking back to Daphne , "Anything you can add to help, feel free; otherwise, we should find a safe place in the temple, so we aren't out in the open.” his attention went to Katerine. "Priestess, is there a safe place for us to go inside? If there is, let's grab what we can, and you lead the way.”

---

Mentions: Daphne @PrinceAlexus, Kat @SpicyMeatball

---

Claret Crown

The two guards located upon the wooden walkway, just above the gate leading into Dawnhaven, just stared at each other.

"What did he just say? That fellows got four arms, I didn't know they could have that. Did ya? And captain crown? That's a wanted man, I saw the posters, but this fellow doesn't have a hat or a ship. I think he's trying to take us for fools. Besides his nose looks nothing like the poster." The younger guardsman explained to his senior guardsman friend.

"Shut your yapper. None make a fool out of me on my watch. Watch this." The grey-bearded guard straightened his stance, puffed up his chest and leaned over the railing.

"Hey you! Traveller! What brings you to Dawnhaven? Also we are not buying your story, if you would be some infamous wanted pirate, where's your hat and your ship?" The older guard asked, scanning the obvious pretender-pirate.

"Ohoi! Me swear on me dead offspring that aren't even born yet, that me have only spoken o' the truth (this time). Me hat me gifted away, me ship sank to the bottom o' the sea." Claret made a court motion, bowing his head while holding all four of his arms to his sides.

"Oi! Now he's doin' it again, he is no pirate, this fellow is a sham, some con-man pretending to be famous when he is probably just piss poor an drunk." The younger and more critical guard relayed to his companion while keeping his hand on his bow. He always wanted an opportunity to show off his growing skill in archery.

"Shut up! I am not an idiot, I can see when someone is trying to deceive me. Inherited that from my mother." The grey-bearded man replied swiftly in a reprimanding manner.

"'Ey are ye two done dawdlin' up there an ready to let this shipwrecked but handsome sea dog in?" Ex-Captain Crown stood patiently below and before the gates, hoping it would take ages for them to open. But then again. He wasn't an expert when it came to those kind of things.

"Look how eager he is! No eyepatch, no pegleg, no parrot... not even a hook! This fellow is trouble, we can't let in someone who lies to honest hardworking guardsmen." The more youthful of the duo made acute perceptions of the scene before them, and relayed it to his friend, whose eye-sight may not be what it once were.

"Shaddap! I dont need you to tell me that. Let's test him." The older guard grinned deviously.

" Ye know! It really is probably kind of chilly out 'ere ye know! Me would freeze my knockers off if me had any." Claret stated in a matter of fact kind of voice, the clear lack of knockers on his mind left him feeling at a deep loss.

"What? We are deliberating if we can, with good consience let you in here. We don't believe for a second that you are telling the truth." The shorter, more young of the capable duo yelled out to the patient pirate.

"Ah fer feckin' salty sam's soiled pantaloons. Listen 'ere gents... Me just wanna get in, 'ave a good drink, some booty an do abit of handiwork... aye?" Claret explained in the best calm way that he could, he couldn't afford to get into a fight the first thing he did. Coming to think of it, with his empty coin purse he couldn't really afford anything until he would find someone with a loose coinpurse.

"Shit... I had just forgotten how thirsty I am. That arse out there reminded me of how sad my belly is without a drink or two in it." The barely twenty summers old guard lamented his plight to his more experienced counterpart, who knew just what to say.

"Be quiet! I haven't had a strong one for over a week for that damnable blizzard." The gruff older guard said in a slightly irritated voice. Why was he always the one to suffer? He sure enough could bet someone fancy like Sir Abel had the time of his life at this point. And what did he get? Guard duty.

"Oh ya the snowstorm, I got stuck in the inn. Thank Seluna." The younger guard said in a slightly jovial tone, all things considered, he didn't care where he were, only that there were some food and drinks.

"Shhh! Keep your moon goddess praise out from our guard duty, it's cold enough without you asking her for more. Try pray to Aelios for once, maybe the sun will come back so I can get myself a good all over tan again." The greybearded man momentarily took off his helmet to show his pale bald spot on his receding hair.

"All over tan? I didn't know you were the sunbathing kind. Shit... thought ya knew a fellow." The young man sighed and then both his and his friends attention fell on Claret again.

"Do me need to lay siege to ye dawn town to enter?! This captain is thinkin' o' boardin' the wall. Me thought ye town would welcome unfortunate blighted souls?" The priate crossed his two upper arms over his chest and let the lower two rest at his waist, he would let them know that his patience was gradually growing thin.

"Look! There he goes again with the attitude and temper! Trouble if I ever saw it. Selfish bastard, it's all about him. He might not be a pirate, captain or famous, but he sure likes to lie and pretend he's a fancy actor. If he only lied half as good as Aldrick plays the- what is that instrument called again?" The ever critical and energic youngster turned to his father figure of a friend.

"Shush! The heck do I know. Isn't the man a singer? It doesn't matter. Allright, mister, whomever you are or pretending to be, we will not accept any unlawful behaviour in Dawnhaven. If we find you with any of your four hands where they shouldn't be. You going straight to jail." The greyhaired man crossed his arms as he spoke, this was his first shift at the gate where actually someone came by.

"What he said." The younger man chimed in.

"Ye, ye fair 'nuff. Are ye goin' ta let me in then?" Claret yelled back to them, bringing his two top hands up to his face, one pinching the bridge of his nose, the other facepalming.

"What if this fellow is here to steal our work. He got as many arms as we have together. They could hire him and then only pay one instead of two...if Volkov sees and hire this guy for guarding the gate. That means..." It was in a fearful tone that the younger of the dynamic duo relayed his realization to his solution solving friend.

"Oh shu- wait... you are right. That means we would have to do outhouse duty, cleaning the stables or be stationed in front of that nobleman's building. The obnoxious loud lord." The greyhaired man almost seemed to curse under his breath, his friend was bringing in some new angles.

"Ya! That's what I was thinking! It's in our best interest to keep the bad ones out and the good ones in. But wait a second... what if his side is the inside? If you think about it, Dawnhaven lies outside of both kingdoms." The youthful man rubbed his neck as he tried his best to try his luck at thinking.

"Are you trying to give me a headache? Who cares about that? We should test him just to make sure he is harmless." The greying old codger hit his tightened fist into the palm of his other hand.

"Me have to inform ye noble guardsmen, whilst ye were busy enrichin' yerselves, me found a lil bit o' cotton in me navel. Wish me had somethin' better ta do like shaggin' or bowin' meself afore them highnesses!" Claret poked his ear and held a hand before his mouth to try shield the duo from his yawn.

"Oi! We were discussing your potential future in our town! You should try be a little more considerate, it isn't easy being in charge of everyone's safety." The younger energy-filled guard yelled out to the ungrateful vagrant at their gate. Who did he think he was?

"What my friend here just said. Also... shut your damn mouth. I am the good talker. So we have decided to test you. To see if you are safe to let in or not. First off. Do you have any weapons? Do you know magic? Do you consider yourself reliable? How much coin do you carry on your person? What is the velocity of an arrow when fired from a fully strung bow?" The older man asked.

"Tha' a composite or a shortbow? What the quality o' the arrow? Is it fired aiming upwards, forwards or down from an elevation?" Claret quickly asked while giving a shrug.

"I- I don't.. to heck with that question! Answer the rest!" The old guard barked out.

"He's doing it again! Trying to act all smart and ejucated." The younger once again chimed in.

"Educated you idiot! And zip it!" The wiser of the duo hushed and corrected his companion.

"We'll lesse 'ere, me gots four cutlasses, alot sharper than regular lasses. Me be havin' twenty-fer throwin' daggers. Me also know abit o' magic, blow all the wind out o' ya sails. Gah hah hah! Yarr? Me be reliable as the steerin' wheel o' me ol' ship, and me even got the same impressive wood. Coin on me person? Why would me be havin' tha? Ye bury the chests with coin or ye spend it on drinks an' other pleasures!" Claret said in a more cheery tone when he recollected about all the impressive things about him and what manner of things he would hopefully be up to. Once. If. He could get past that gate.

"Oi... that arse reminded me about needing a drink again. I hate his guts, but he's right. I would have spent my coin at the inn, but my wife would kill me." The young man said through gritted teeth as his hand dug into the wooden railing.

"Sh- what? You are married? When did that happen? Nevemind! Hmm... well after careful consideration." The older guard began to explain as he stood proudly with crossed arms.

"Aye?!" Claret called out, eager to hear the next few words. But a third guardsman was heard.

"What is going on here? Let the traveller inside! Open the gate! " A third man barked out sternly to the two on the railing.

"We were just about to do that! We were!" The younger called out.

"Oh shut up already!" The older added.

"'Ell that wasn't so hard. Well she ne'er said that to me ever. Feck. Me need a drink. Bloody. Me fergot me had me rum. " He reached for his bottle of rum, uncorked it and took a swig.

"Alot more rum where tha' came from. Oh pard'n me." He bumped into one of the guards,and quickly bowed his head appologetically, brushing off the man's armor and clothes with his four hands. Then discreetly snatching the keychain by his belt, slipping it into his own coat.

"Pleasure's all mined, tha's what the golddigger said. I'm off to find meself some key people o' interest."

Claret then began to sing aloud on his way to what he assumed was the place for booze and booty.

"Salty sam had a thick big log, oh his lass was whinin' like a dog. But he couldn't know, what was next for the show, he expected shag but upon seeing her cannons sag. He knew, swaggin' didn't always lead to shaggin'. Oh poor salty sam, saltiest sailor of the stormy seas, his sail always raised, his massive wooden plank ready to deal with any skank. Oh salty sam, where's yer load of sea men, ready to serve ye at yer beck an' call. Hurry, swashbucklrrin' with flurry, he thrust his trusty rapier into a trap, and sure enough it made his confidence snap!" He whistled abit before continuing.

"Oh salty sam, saltiest sailor of the stormy seas! Nay man as hard and just, his keel into every wet wave he thrusts! Now he's a family man, and any attempt to flee is met with fryin' pan. Oh salty sam, why did ye the princess ram? Oh ye scoundrel and envy of every sea men whose out to be like ye! Oh brave the wave, or live life in marriage and be a slaaaaaaaaaaaave!" Claret sung out aloud, now in a far more cheery mood. He jumped into the air and clicked his heels together.

---

---

A guard sprinted through the snow-dusted streets of Dawnhaven, breath fogging into the air, his Aurelian armor clinking with each hurried step. The townspeople glanced at him with curiosity as he passed, their expressions shifting to concern when he approached the bell tower at the square’s center.

Reaching the base of the structure, he looked up to see the faint glow of a lantern swaying in the hands of the watchman above. “Tav!” the Aurelian called up, his voice cutting through the muffled chatter of nearby townspeople who had gathered for the feast. “Send the ladder down!”

Above, the watchman leaned over the railing, squinting down at the man below. After a moment's hesitation, he vanished from sight. Moments later, a wooden ladder slid into place with a thud, its base sinking slightly into the snow below.

The Aurelian wasted no time climbing up, his boots thudding against the wooden steps, leaving traces of mud along the way. Reaching the bell platform, he exchanged a brief glance with the watchman, a Lunarian. “We’re sounding the alarm. Commander Barrett’s orders.” he explained quickly. “I’ll handle it. You’re needed below to help the others secure the square.”

The watchman nodded and descended as the Aurelian guard turned to the massive bell in the center of the tower. Gripping the thick rope, he pulled it back and released, the first deep, resounding gong echoing through the town. Another followed, and then a third, the sound carrying far and wide, pulling townsfolk from their homes and shops.

When a crowd began to gather below, the guard stepped to the edge of the platform, projecting his voice to address them.

“Attention, citizens of Dawnhaven!” he called out, his voice steady and clear. “There has been an attack near the outskirts of town. The situation is being handled, but the attacker remains at large.”

A ripple of anxious murmurs passed through the crowd, nervous voices rising in the cold. “For your safety, we ask that you shelter in place immediately. Secure your doors and windows, and remain indoors unless absolutely necessary.”

He paused, scanning the faces below, then added with a sharper tone. “If you see anything suspicious—anything at all—report it to the nearest guard at once. The Commanders will be informed. Do not investigate on your own.”

His gaze swept over the gathered townsfolk as they looked between one another. “Dawnhaven is prepared for these situations.” he assured them, “Stay calm, stay vigilant, follow our direction, and we will keep you safe. We’ll see this through. Please take shelter until we are able to locate the attacker.”

Slowly, the crowd began to disperse, footsteps crunching in the snow as some hurried away while others lingered to ask questions of nearby guards. Gradually, soldiers began to shuffle people back into their homes, shops, or the inn, quietly urging any stragglers to return to safety.

As the bell’s echoes and the chatter of the crowd faded into the night, the Aurelian guard remained at the edge of the platform, his eyes scanning the square below, watchful for any signs of trouble.

@c3p-0h@enmuni

Aliseth

---

Tavern

---

Aliseth was striding towards the exit of the tavern. A slight sway to his rigid careful steps. His path following that of a large barbarian who conveniently cleared the way. Aliseth had seemingly misjudged this Elio. Where he thought he saw concern, worry and a need to know of his friends fate, those indicators quickly dissolved into nothingness as he instead sat and talked to that monstrous looking blighted. She was more monster than human and had the nerve to hold herself with a sense of aristocracy. He recalled the way it had spoken down to him, taunted him. Aliseth had seen street rats beaten to near death for less. He knew he could have, should have, and probably would have punished her if it wasn't for Zeph. And where was Zeph anyway? Yet another of this creatures victims?

Before he reached the door, the bards made an announcement and began entertaining the tavern. Aliseth's thoughts were too dark, heart to cold, feelings too numb, to embrace or enjoy it. Sadly, there was a time not too long ago where he would revel in such things, a time not in uniform, when princesses weren't missing and a hunt wasn't out for a murderous blightborn. He watched a nearby table dissolve into drunken merriment as they were caught up in the tune on the air.

Aliseth let out a sigh and carried on to the door, never looking back. Before leaving, his hand balled into a fist as he clearly yet softly articulated a sentence no normal hearing could pick out amongst all the noise. Despite its discreet softness it was filled with venom. "Nesna, the slightest slip up or hint of trouble and your head will end up a trophy my wall. I promise you that."
With that said, Aliseth threw open the tavern door, the rush of icy wind that hit him a welcomed awakening to his senses as he walked out into the soft snowfall.

The echoes of a bell toil in his ears and the remains of a dispersing crowd linger, chatting with heavy concern. He straightened his back, lift his chin, and for most part deliberately went out his way to be found by questioning eyes, sure to inform any curious, worried citizens that a blight-born was eating people.

Upon receiving word of events and the sound of bells Was enough the Lime eyes blightborn Vala sought out Becky. “Lock everything, il handle the bar, you head to the landing dock. someone will lock the back stairs, and the distillery is already barred.”

“Please make way for us to secure the eye” Vala said firmly as she made self known over the noise.

…

Upstairs Sya had been resting and wallowing in her nest of cushions, her hand still ran over her tail and the feeling was relaxing as stroked her limb that lay sprawled about her. Part of her did not want to look, the other marvelled and enjoyed the feeling as she ran her hand over the cool blue scales.

The alarm had yet to sound as she pulled her dress off and folded it neatly to be cleaned up properly when she could, it needed a little care. Damn Ayel… How many clothes really suited her now and that was one of them.

She slithered over to the bedroom, finding a trunk of things left by Olivia, she never came back for it, and could return If she ever did. They had definitely had fun though, and While she might want to relive those experiences… it was afternoon… ish… maybe she could get dressed at least and see what to do from there.

Her choice of clothes was fueled by her mood and her screw It, I might as well be me, and fuck everyone else. Choosing a nice Cosret in brown, it was basic but practical for work, the skirt was somewhat more controversial but…not like they knew what she had and it covered. You'd see more tail, but it was tail and well…it fit her mood, she was Sya and Sya was what you got.

It took her a little time to change, her form was awkward and well, you ever tried to learn how to use a new body in a week. Pulling it tight she slid the long dagger to her side, everyone knew Dawn Haven was not safe, don,t ask where she hid the other blade.

It was more snug fit on the emotionally hurt Lamia but she was slithering out on her balcony, the snow not a bother as she pushed through to look out over dawn haven. It was then she saw people rushing about the sound of the town's alarm bell. Her ability to rest was… she wanted to rest, she needed rest. For a minute or two she watched from balcony , people heading to homes, to posts and moving about like ants below. Heading back she glanced out the snug and spotted a Shape in distance on the road from the main gate, subtly wrong…her thermal Vision did not work that far out but her night vision did as she saw definitely wrong.

But responsibility weighed heavily on Sya too and she was already moving to the stairs. The figure had raised her need to secure her Inn.

She slithered down the steps fast as she dared grab the rails as she went. Sya knew they would not be popular, so she had a few surprises about but left those for now.

“Secure the main doors, now. Everyone, you'll be my guests for a little longer. Please stay calm, we have room, food and fuel ready in storage. We are prepared, and know what to do.” She said firmly from the stairs as she paused with a short sword sized dagger openly at her side and dressed…well a little differently. She was tired, emotionally tired but work was work. Damn Dawn Haven.

“move.” She was a little more blunt as she made way to Vala, giving the woman a nod and quietly. “Someone's coming, Lock it now and fast.” She sent the Lime haired woman to the door and made way to the bar, if she had to get creative with rooms, or so…well she had the book and map to see where she could put people. Planning ahead never hurts.

Sya leaned against the counter and sighed as she stayed on guest side for now to be less of a trip hazzed to staff needing to move about... damn her tail was inpractical at times, making her footprint smaller as best she could, her eye glided over the guest book and ... well If people did not mind a floor...



MENTIONS
@Dark Light@SpicyMeatball@Qia@Dezuel
(Anyone in eye of beholder)

There's always a reaction to an action. Whereof Zeph would believe him or not, or nibble at what was presented before him, either way the blonde gardener would learn something. From his observations Zephyros seemed to be an able listener, yet he maneauvered in conversations akin to Kira, careful to not let anything personal slip.

A guarded guardsman. At least he had chosen the right kind of work. The scoff the man had made was telling enough about the man. He was prideful. But it didn't come off as the same kind which some nobles would carry themselves, sucking unto any chance of gaining fame, material wealth or improved social standing. No. This man clearly was prideful of his present self. A man content with what he currently held within his grasp? Perhaps time would tell.

That Zephyros would consider to arrest Dyna was met with a soft snicker from the blonde. To consider something is not the same as agreeing to something.

"How considerate. But a consideration is not akin to a promise. Regardless... I shall draw the face of the boy. Why? I'll keep that part to myself." Gadez looked over his shoulder and smirked.

'I could consider sparing King Auric. Except that I have no intention of doing so. As for the boy. If he proves a too elusive prey for the guards of Dawnhaven, then I shall have to deal with him myself. Either way. That lone wolf is a thorn which must be removed. Any attempt to sow fear amidst the populace and pin the humans against the afflicted must not be allowed to persist. He's a threat to the great plan. I shall unroot him and toss him into the fire.' Gadez thought as he gave a slight nod to Zephyros.

"Flynn will come no doubt. I know he will be unable to resist the chance to possibly gloat and ask his questions. But will he like the answers? Now that's the curious part. Hahah… ahh… and I shall do my best to not miss you, Zephyros the breeze, I seldom miss. Hahahah..." Gadez laughed aloud as Zeph left the building. The blonde warrior-monk took a deep breath and exhaled through his mouth, then made his way over towards the sad-excuse of the bed. He sat on it and rested his back against the wall.

'No matter what happens. Battle will come to Dawnhaven. All I can do is to strengthen the only side worthy to win the final battle. The edge of the two-faced coin. Dawnhaven. The state of the world, my own conclusion to it... Aelios' shell. It rests beneath the Aurelian capitol. In an old forgotten temple. Down some dark passageways. It would make sense that her corporeal form would be nested amidst her followers. Which makes it all the more ironic. That it was likely one of her own followers that plunged this world into darkness. Now here's food for thought. Was it Auric or was it the highest amidst the clergy? Where her soul went. I have little doubt. But still such power would have done what it has done to the afflicted. Perhaps to a more potent degree. Divine power flowing out. If a mortal were to wield a fraction of that power and attain the same longevity of the divine, what use would there be for heirs?' He softly mused in his own head, shaking it softly afterwards.

The gardener chuckled. It didn't matter. He would fight on, like he always had, until the day he no longer could, would he die before or during his battle with Auric. Death was beckoning. Despite the hatred that had been channelled into sheer focus. He had felt that odd tingle again. That horrible. Awful feeling. He couldn't allow himself to fall prey to it again.

He closed his eyes momentarily as he delved into his memories.





@The Muse

Holding Amaya close, his arms wrapped securely around her, Flynn listened intently to the soft cadence of her breathing. A lullaby he hadn’t known he’d needed. For a moment, he allowed himself to savor it—to lose himself in the rise and fall of her chest, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, the way her body softened into his as sleep reclaimed her.

For a fleeting span of minutes, he felt the world narrow to just this—just her—and he tried to hold onto the moment with quiet desperation. Her breathing deepened and he closed his eyes, his muscles easing around her.

Despite his efforts, her warmth felt like a fragile balm against the storm that had been building in his mind, slowly slipping out of reach with every passing second. Like the tide, his thoughts crept back in, relentless as ever, and dragged him from the edge of sleep.

He reopened his eyes, fixating on the amber glow of the ceiling. The weight of each task waiting for him began to unfurl in his thoughts, one after the other, crowding his mind. The feral blight-born loomed at the forefront. Where was it now and why had there been no word of progress? Each question stabbed at him like daggers, lodging deep into his chest.

The silence in the room felt like a shadow inching closer, thick and suffocating. And there was still so much he hadn’t yet said to Amaya.

Dread coiled tightly in his chest, but Flynn remained still, unable to bring himself to let her go. His arms tightened around her, holding on as if she were the only thing tethering him to sanity. But his eyes stayed locked on the ceiling, memories and fears playing out like ghosts across the empty ceiling, weaving a tapestry of what-ifs and could-bes that he couldn’t escape.

Mercifully, a soft knock at the door shattered the endless loop of his thoughts. His body tensed, and he glanced down at Amaya, her features still peaceful in the embrace of sleep. For a moment, he thought about staying there, letting the world wait.

But duty always had a way of calling louder.

Flynn shifted, sliding his arm out from under her as carefully as possible. He paused, watching to ensure she remained undisturbed, before rising from the bed and quietly crossing the room to the door.

When he opened it, a guard stepped aside to reveal Elara standing with her ever-composed demeanor, her silvery hair catching the light in the dim hallway. Beside her was Eris Hightower, whose sharp eyes locked onto him with concern before she bowed her head.

“Lady Moonshadow, Lady Hightower,” Flynn greeted them softly, his voice low, mindful of the sleeping Princess behind him. He opened the door wider, motioning for them to step inside. “She awoke earlier, but...” his gaze flicked back to Amaya. He could still feel the way her lips pressed against his. “She’s asleep again.”

Elara entered the room, her gaze instinctively gravitating toward the fragile figure reclining on the bed. The pallor of her friend’s complexion, illuminated by the silvery cascade of moonlight threading through the curtains, rendered her beauty delicate, almost spectral. Relief coursed through the handmaiden like a muted current, a fleeting reprieve that could not fully dispel the persistent knot of trepidation tightening within her chest.

Her glacial blue eyes shifted to Flynn, briefly catching the fatigue etched into his features before flicking to Eris, who had followed close behind her. “I brought Lady Hightower, as you requested, and have informed her of everything that has transpired.”

“Thank you, Elara.” Flynn gently closed the door behind them, watching as Eris quietly moved toward the bedside.

Kneeling at Amaya’s side, her gaze swept over the Princess with intense focus. Finding the speckling of bruises along the lower half of Amaya’s forearm, a frown formed on her lips.

“She’s in pain from it.” Flynn quietly informed Eris, stepping around Elara to sit at the foot of the bed, his worried eyes shifting between Eris and Amaya.

Eris didn’t respond, her focus entirely locked on the Princess. Slowly, she reached out, pressing the back of her hand against Amaya’s forehead. Her skin was cool to the touch, no fever present, but the absence of one only deepened Eris’s concern. Relief might have been her instinct under different circumstances, but now, she wondered if Amaya’s body was failing to recognize the blight-borns foreign substance.

After a long moment, Eris’s gaze flicked to Flynn. He was watching her every move intently, brows drawn together. Their gazes met briefly, a silent understanding passing between them, before Eris turned her attention back to Amaya.

Gently, she placed a hand on Amaya’s shoulder, her touch firm yet careful. Leaning in slightly, Eris spoke, trying to make her words soft enough to avoid startling but clear enough to cut through the haze. “Your Highness,” she murmured, giving the slightest shake to Amaya’s shoulder. “Can you hear me?”

Amaya’s brows drew together slightly as her breathing shifted. Her eyes fluttered open, bleary and unfocused with sleep. Then she registered a presence above her.

Flinching back, Amaya gave a small gasp as the world came back to her. Flashes of crimson and pain shot through her like ice — and then her mind caught up with her surroundings. The face above her wasn’t pale with bloody, dripping teeth. It was familiar. A woman. Flynn’s sage.

Flynn.

His presence was unmistakable, drawing her attention like a beacon. Pale blue eyes met green as Amaya’s heart tried to slow itself again, adrenaline sharp in her blood. He seemed so far away from her, sitting at the edge of her bed. She didn’t know if that was a relief or an ache. Amaya held his gaze as the memory of his warmth echoed through her body — against her back. Along her cheek. Into her lips.

She looked away from him — towards anything else. Her mouth was suddenly dry. Her skin was warm. The feel of her dress against her body was suddenly too tight, the blankets too heavy as they weighed her down… but not as heavy as his arm around around her waist, holding her close, breathing her in —

In her desperation to avoid Flynn’s gaze, she found someone else: Elara. Silver and unmistakable, her friend stood near the back of the room, safe and whole.

Some tightness in Amaya’s heart unspooled as relief flooded her.

“Elara,” she breathed. “You’re here.”

You’re safe.

Then she remembered herself. Even with her scattered nerves, Amaya fought to pull herself back together. She returned her attention back to the woman above her. “Lady Hightower,” she murmured in greeting.

Fighting to not let her discomfort show on her face, Amaya tried to push herself up to a seated position. Her limbs still ached, heavy with the day’s events. She winced through the pain as she moved.

Elara stepped forward, her movements guided by an almost imperceptible urgency as Amaya strained to sit upright. “You mustn’t exert yourself,” she murmured, her voice a delicate balance of steadiness and gentle admonition. Lowering herself to her knees on the opposite side of the bed from Eris, Elara’s hands hovered just above Amaya’s shoulders—poised to offer support, though she hesitated, unwilling to encroach without permission.

“I’m here,” she assured instead, her gaze locking with Amaya’s. “You’re safe now. That’s all that matters.”

Amaya’s hand moved without her permission, reaching for Elara’s. She needed to touch her, to know that she was whole and real, her skin warm, her pulse steady. A memory flashed in her mind — of laying on Elara’s floor, coated in ice, as they clung to each other.

The Princess, normally so reserved and guarded with her emotions, closed her eyes and gave a quiet sigh. Her fingers tightened around Elara’s.

Flynn watched the exchange, a quiet ache settling in his chest as he wished, just for a moment, that it had been him she had reached for.

“I’m… I’m fine,” she said as she opened her eyes again. Her voice was frail. It was unacceptable.

She kept a hold of Elara as she continued to push herself up with her other hand. Finally, she was sitting upright again, back against the headboard. Fighting to even out her breathing, she refused to look at the other figures in her room — she refused to see the way they looked at her, as she stubbornly composed herself.

Eris watched silently, her heart tightening at the evident bond between Amaya and Elara. A faint smile touched her lips, but it faltered when her gaze shifted momentarily to Flynn. His expression—a mix of longing and vulnerability—was so uncharacteristic that it felt like an intrusion to witness. Eris quickly averted her eyes, as if respecting a moment that wasn’t hers to observe. Rarely had she ever seen Flynn, typically so guarded and composed, allow such emotion to surface.

After letting the moment linger, Eris finally spoke, her voice soft and respectful. “Your Highness,” she said, her hand gesturing toward Amaya’s bruised forearm, “may I?”

When the Princess offered only a nod, Eris shifted closer. With a small snap of her fingers, two tiny orbs of soft yellow light burst into existence, hovering just above the top of her left hand. Light spilled into each corner of the room in an instant, providing Eris a better look.

Amaya kept her gaze focused on her hand, intertwined with Elara’s as Eris worked. The familiar contrast of their skin tones, the feel of Elara’s slender fingers against hers… for a moment, Amaya remembered different hands. Larger. More callused. Warmer, scorching her skin where they touched her. She couldn’t stop her eyes from glancing up to find him, still sitting at the edge of her bed, his weight causing the mattress to dip slightly. She forced her eyes back down.

As Amaya’s gaze lifted, her eyes momentarily alighting on Flynn, Elara detected a subtle shift in her expression that was so short-lived it might have escaped anyone less attuned to her. But the handmaiden was no casual observer; she knew Amaya intimately, well enough to discern the undercurrent of emotion that stirred beneath the surface. The moment was fleeting, vanishing almost as soon as it appeared, yet it lodged itself in Elara’s chest, a disquiet she could neither name nor entirely suppress. Still, she responded instinctively, her fingers pressing lightly into Amaya’s, the touch a silent overture of unwavering support. It was a gesture that conveyed the words she dared not speak, even as an unwelcome pang of intrusion pricked at the edges of her consciousness.

Such feelings were inconsequential. Irrelevant. At least, that was the narrative she forced herself to believe.

Taking Amaya’s forearm into her hands with the utmost care, Eris turned it, inspecting the bruising and central point of injury with meticulous focus. The orbs of light followed her movements as her fingers lightly traced the edges of the discoloration, feeling for any abnormalities. Her expression remained calm, though her thoughts were anything but.

Healing magic had always come naturally to her, but this was no ordinary wound. She could easily mend wounds and ease pain, but dealing with toxins required an entirely different level of power and precision—one she had never attempted, and had only studied.

Such a feat would require magic of an extraordinarily high caliber, and even then, the success was uncertain. Even if Aelios were high in the sky to bolster her mana reserves, the risks of failure were staggering. And without precise knowledge of what was coursing through Amaya’s body, the risk was incalculable.

Even for a skilled healer such as herself, this was daunting.

As she worked, Eris bit the inside of her lip, her mind racing through possible solutions. Her hands moved with care, noting the arm’s temperature, texture, and shifts in tone. Silently, she cursed the fact that she had never been permitted to study blood magic—a forbidden art that would have been invaluable now, though she would never dare voice such a thought aloud.

Finally, Eris looked up, her expression calm. “Can you tell me where the pain is concentrated, Your Highness?” she asked, her tone soft. “Has it spread beyond your arm, or do you feel unwell in any other way? Dizziness? Nausea? Anything unusual?”

Amaya was still, her words, her breath, her nerves, all held tightly in a ball just behind her heart. Her world felt off-kilter. She didn’t know where she stood, or how to be, surrounded by people who looked at her with patience and kind eyes and warm hands. Her emotions threatened to spill out of her. They pulled in her chest, caught in a gravity she was unwilling to give into – not now, not with so many eyes on her. Not when giving in would mean falling apart.

“Fatigue,” Amaya finally said. It felt like the word took pieces with her as it wrenched itself free from her grasp. It felt like an admission of her own inadequacies. “The pain is concentrated in my arm.” Her voice was soft, but clear. There was a sterile quality to it, like she was trying to hide every bit of herself away to simply deliver the requested information. She tried to sort through what could be related to the blight-born’s magic, and what simply hurt because of her own frailty. Most of her body ached in some way. She was exhausted. Her head swam. “Even without his blood, some level of discomfort is to be expected, I imagine,” she murmured. Her gaze stayed locked on her hand in Elara’s as she tried to pull fact away from emotion, events away from memory.

“When he… injected me,” she said, something small and breakable leaking into her voice, “it was overwhelming. It was difficult to focus, or feel in control of myself.” She’d felt like she was floating – like she was drowning. She remembered how the ground seemed to shift from under her, how she’d had to fight to try and keep her magic under control as it’d surged to meet this new threat. “It was in conjunction with some sort of psychic magic he had. It was like he took up too much space in my body.” He hadn’t just sent his thoughts to her – he’d echoed through her very blood, traveling down her veins.

Suddenly Amaya was desperate to have her magic back. It was still quiet in her blood, drained from the day’s events. But she wanted to feel it dance under her skin, wanted to feel the overwhelming chill of it – it was dangerous, but it was hers. She wanted it to take up so much space in her body that there was no room for anything or anyone else.

Amaya forced herself to take in a slow breath, her expression still carefully blank.

“It grew stronger after he fed.”

“I see,” Eris murmured, nodding slowly as the weight of the information settled over her. Her gaze shifted back to Amaya’s forearm, and the faintest sigh slipped past her lips. “The pain in your arm... I can ease it,” she said, her brows knitting in concern. “But I—” she hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line before she looked up at Amaya again. “I don’t know if I can dispel this on my own. What’s been done to you… it’s unlike anything I’ve dealt with before. And without Aelios, I...” She stopped herself, shaking her head as she cut herself off from going into a rant of excuses and concerns. None of it would help. Amaya didn’t need her doubt—she needed solutions.

Eris shifted her gaze to Flynn, who reluctantly tore his attention from Amaya to meet her eyes. “I believe Priestess Tingara may be our best hope,” she continued. “She’s already demonstrated her skill, as you know...” Her voice softened as her thoughts lingered on the memory of the boy Tia had saved. That act alone had demanded immense power. Combined, they could be a force to reckon with.

With a deep breath, Eris centered herself, and channeled magic into her palms. Moving her hands slowly downward with featherlight pressure, a faint golden shimmer flowed over Amaya’s skin, seeping into her arm and radiating outward like sunlight. The magic entered, eagerly searching for something to mend or heal. What if would find, if anything at all, Eris was unsure. At the very least, it provided a soothing effect—a calming balm that dulled the sharp edges of pain and provided a sense of warmth.

As the light dimmed, Eris withdrew her hands slowly. These days, the expense of her magic felt as if a piece of her always faded with it, slow to return and leaving a sudden hollowness in her chest where it had normally overflowed.

“This will only last for a few hours.” she admitted softly, “but it should help you rest and regain some strength.”

Rising to her feet, Eris dusted off her dress and coat, the orbs of light still following her every movement. Her eyes briefly landed on the shoes lined neatly by the bed—Flynn and Amaya’s—before returning to Prince’s face. “I’ll return with the Priestess as soon as I can.”

Flynn gave her a small nod of approval, and Eris glanced down at Amaya one last time, offering a faint, reassuring smile. “Rest, Your Highness. We’ll have you fixed up in no time.” Her voice held a note of confidence, despite the nerves buzzing inside her chest.

Without waiting for a reply, she inclined her head respectfully and turned, her light trailing after her as she slipped out the door.

Elara’s thoughts followed after Eris like whispered prayers, a subdued hope threading through her consciousness that the priestess would be found with haste. Though Eris’s voice had carried the measured cadence of reassurance, she had not missed the faint tremor beneath the words—the unspoken burden of uncertainty cloaked by the practiced serenity of a skilled healer.

Lowering her eyes, she found her own hands still lightly entwined with Amaya’s. The tension that had held her fingers in a near-constant vice finally relented, though a nearly imperceptible tremor remained in its wake, betraying the storm of doubt roiling within her. Her breath caught for a moment as a flicker of insecurity took root. She had dabbled in healing magic, yes—enough to close shallow wounds or dull the sharp edges of pain—but the intricacies required now were far beyond her grasp, weren’t they? Was Amaya truly going to be alright? Would this priestess truly be able to help them?

Elara’s throat constricted as fragments of memory surged unbidden to the forefront of her mind: her mother’s gentle hands enveloping hers, guiding her faltering attempts at channelling the intricate art of healing. She could still recall the incandescent glow flickering tentatively in her palms as her mother’s voice—soft yet imbued with unwavering authority—echoed in her ears. “Magic, especially this kind, is the art of balance, Elara,” she had said, her tone a harmony of admonition and encouragement. “Too much, and you risk causing harm instead of mending. Too little…and your effort is a whisper lost to the wind.”

Her fingers tightened reflexively around Amaya’s hand, the slight pressure grounding her even as her thumb brushed against the princess’s knuckles in a gesture that spoke of both reassurance and a need for stability. Those early lessons had been straightforward, the stakes confined to withering flora or the sting of a scraped knee. But as the years unfolded, the royal court’s exacting tutelage had reshaped magic into a meticulous discipline, stripping it of its instinctual essence and transforming it into an exact science. “Healing is not simply the mending of flesh,” her tutors had intoned with unwavering severity. “It is the restoration of the whole. Intent without precision is not merely ineffectual—it is dangerous.”

And yet, what purpose did all those years of meticulous training serve now, when her mastery felt woefully inadequate against the malevolent tendrils of blight-born… magic? Her mother’s axiom of balance intertwined with the court’s unrelenting insistence on perfection, forming a tangled knot of doubt that pressed heavily against her chest. If Eris could not act, would Elara’s skill suffice in the face of such insidious corruption? Could she dare to wield her magic, knowing failure might deepen the wounds she sought to heal?

The weight of those doubts settled over her like a smothering shadow. But as her gaze lingered on Amaya’s pallid, drawn visage, Elara inhaled slowly, forcing air into her lungs, steadying the trembling edges of her thoughts. The Princess needed her—needed her to anchor herself, to push through the turmoil and remain steadfast. The maelstrom of uncertainty would have to wait, silenced for now by the unassailable truth that Amaya’s wellbeing came above all else.

Whatever doubts lingered in her heart, they would not be allowed to interfere.

Dread tightened its grip around Flynn's heart as he watched the Sage leave, but he tried his best to ignore it. If Eris was uncertain about helping Amaya, what hope did they really have? He stifled a sigh as his thoughts drifted to the Priestess and his prior conversation with her. Hopefully she would still be willing to aid them. Exhaling slowly, he drew his attention back to Amaya, rising from where he sat and moving to fill the vacant space Eris had left behind. Her pale eyes flicked up to him at the movement.

"Any better?" His gaze lingered on her arm for a moment, trying to find any subtle signs of relief, before shifting back to her face. Briefly, he glanced toward Elara, hoping to gauge her thoughts and see how she was holding up, but found his focus quickly returning to Amaya once more, her well-being consuming him entirely.

Flynn’s question broke through Elara’s thoughts then, and her eyes flicked to him as he moved to Amaya’s side. The tension in his features was unmistakable, a reflection of the same worry that had twisted in her chest a mere moment ago.

Elara adjusted her posture, sitting straighter as she met Flynn’s gaze. “The warmth seemed to ease her, at least,” she offered softly, her thumb brushing lightly across the back of Amaya’s hand in an absent, soothing gesture as she looked at her friend.

"What’s important now is remaining calm,” she added, addressing both Flynn and Amaya. “And keeping her strength up until the priestess arrives.”

Amaya’s nerves took new shape, morphing into sharp irritation.

“Her strength,” Amaya cut in, pulling her hand back from Elara’s, “is fine.” Her magic twitched to life inside her – it still slumbered, buried deep beneath her bones, but its stirring loosened the coils around her heart, if only a bit. And then just like that, her anger cooled into chilling regret. She felt the loss of Elara’s hand against hers, her steady presence and soft skin. Amaya closed her eyes, her empty hand curling closed in her lap. “I’m sorry,” Her voice was soft. Opening her eyes, she looked back to Elara. “I’m fine,” she murmured, another apology in her gaze. Amaya looked back down at her hand and tried to take in a slow breath.

Emotions swam under her skin, knocking against each other and growing tangled as she tried to maintain control. It had been easier in front of the sage – she was little more than a stranger. But now she sat in her bed, with Elara’s care, and Flynn’s nearness, and her emotions swelled like the tide, threatening to drown her.

“This is all unnecessary.” She said it like that simple statement would put all of this to rest – though even Amaya wasn’t sure what she was referring to. Her emotions? Their concern? The call for the Priestess (yet another stranger that Amaya would have to weather)? Amaya was tired of being looked at, and worried over, and cared for. She hated seeing that concerned, scared look in their eyes, and knowing she’d put it there.

“The magic has faded,” she said, forcing herself to meet Elara’s eyes. She tried to look steady and composed – even though she knew Elara had always been able to see through her. “The wound will heal.” She hesitated a moment before turning to look at Flynn. Her heart stuttered in her chest. She’d always found his expressiveness so… frustrating. Infuriating, really. But now, as she met his gaze, finding something so raw and fragile in his eyes…

It nearly took her breath away.

“I survived.” The reminder drifted between them, soft as a hand on his cheek. Then Amaya pulled back into herself. She broke her gaze, looking for something unimportant – she found the small glow of candlelight on the far wall of her bedroom. Her hands drew together in her lap, her fingers grazing the scab of her entry wound.

“I’m not so breakable that we need to waste magic on something my body will do on its own.”

---

Tia was spiraling. Rapidly. The snow crunched under her feet as she walked the path beside Ivor. His hulking form towered over her, making her hesitate even as she tried to keep a steady pace with him. The post office grew small behind them as they moved through town, but Tia felt as if she were still there, stuck in place, her dark eyes darting over the Arch Priest’s letter. The folded sheets of paper tucked away in her inner pocket seemed to burn through the fabric, the Arch Priest’s words spinning in her mind.

What was she doing? She could practically hear his soft voice, see his sad, indulgent smile, as he reminded her to not get ahead of herself. Because of course she needed to exercise more caution. Tia’s mind had always run away from her, tripping down pathways to imagined conclusions as she tried to anticipate needs and preempt problems. Her recklessness — because that’s what it was, recklessness — had cost her so much already. Her mentorship with the Arch Priest. Her future with the church. Her voice. And now by some act of grace she had been granted an opportunity to prove herself again, and what was she doing?

Defying the Arch Priest’s advisement to not share her ‘visions’ with the Prince. Upsetting the Prince with half truths and omissions. Going on yet another ill-advised mission (and an unsanctioned, at that) when Tia had barely survived the last one.

What if she was wrong? The Arch Priest’s warning chilled her – what if she was misinterpreting her dreams as something divine when in reality she was just stressed and exhausted and desperate for some way to help? What if the dreams’ origins weren’t divine or banal… but dark, as the Arch Priest suggested? There was so much Tia didn’t know of the blight, of Dawnhaven, of this land that she now found herself in. What if… something else was taking advantage of her weakness and foolishness to now lead her astray, and everyone who trusted her was now doomed by her own incompetence?

Her feet moved without her mind telling them to – it was too busy contemplating all the many ways in which she could be wrong. Another voice echoed in her mind – that of the Prince, warning her against entrusting more of her visions to the Arch Priest. It baffled her – he was their nation’s foremost authority on the interpretation of visions, and held in high esteem by the royal court, as far as Tia had seen. Why shouldn’t she seek his guidance? Tia’s mind clung to the Arch Priest’s final words of guidance, the words of assurance and support that said he had yet to write her off completely, despite it all. She’d felt the loss of his warmth once before – she didn’t know if she could face it again.

Tia wanted to stop. She wanted everything to stop. Instead, she continued walking down the path with Ivor. It took her a moment to realize where her feet were leading her: the jail. She’d seen it briefly on her first day in Dawnhaven, half finished. It’d seemed so mundane at the time, just another bit of infrastructure being built that she’d given no mind to.

Gadez’s soft smile flashed in her mind.

Tia pressed her lips together, her hands tightening around each other.

Dyna. The thought of the Champion’s stern look was enough to stir Tia’s anxiety. But Dyna was such a stalwart protector, so steadfast in her belief and convictions. She couldn’t bear anything happening to her – couldn’t take her from Ranni, not after all the twins had been through – but Tia allowed herself this moment of weakness as she led them towards the jail. Dyna might not… approve of Tia’s need to find the crystal cave, but Tia didn’t know who else to turn to. Ivor had said there might be danger, and Tia desperately needed someone familiar – someone that she knew loved her. And Dyna was the strongest warrior Tia knew. She had to see the cave. She could only move forward, pushed by a force she didn’t hope to understand.

Although their walk together was quiet, it was not entirely uneventful. The closer they got to town, the more commotion there was as guards, both Aurelian and Lunaran, were running about. Something indeed had caused quite a stir, and it brought Ivor back to the lake’s edge, watching the birds scatter above the treeline. Something wasn’t quite right and it kept him all the more alert as his eyes darted from each individual they passed to the dark spaces in between each trunk and thicket. His eyes always found their way back to the priestess, who seemed wholly out of touch with everything going on around her, given the circumstances, she might as well have been a wraith wandering amongst the living. Since Ivor was there, however, the guards gave both of them a wide berth, which in Ivor’s mind was probably for the better.

Their trip to the post office had proven to be uneventful in the long run, and though the giant had expected her to ask him to lead her towards the cave, she instead silently ventured towards a different destination. Ivor watched, confused, but continued to follow her and found himself instead of watching their surroundings, paying attention to the subtle nuances of his companion beside him. There was fear in her actions, he could tell she still wasn’t fully accustomed to him yet, but there was something else too. Something was eating away at her, preoccupying her mind so much that her feet shuffled on without guidance. Eventually their path brought them towards the jail, the same place the armored woman was supposedly bringing that man to; why would the priestess be leading them here? Ivor’s footfalls halted as the priestess continued forward, as if she no longer recognized his presence there anymore. His head cocked to the side, “Excuse me, Miss Priestess? I know I said we need help, but jail does not seem like a good place to find a guard.”

Tia jumped at Ivor’s voice. Looking up (and up, and up) at him, she blinked, cheeks warming. She opened her mouth. Then she closed it, trying to think of an effective way to communicate with him. Her hands tightened around the notebook she held against her chest — not entirely useless, but his reading level was going to prove problematic if she wanted to write anything more than a few simple words at a time. ‘Champion’ would likely be too difficult to sound out without pausing in their tracks and Ivor’s booming laugh.

Eventually Tia opened her book and wrote the simplest phrase she could think of. She held it up to him when she was done.

Jails have guards.

Ivor leaned down to read the words before looking towards Tia, “You are indeed making the good points, jails do have guards…but aren’t they already guarding something? Like that man that lady in armor was bringing here earlie- ohhhhhhhh…” the connections suddenly sinking in, a spark ignited in his mind, “you are here for the armor lady?” It would make sense that the priestess would be here for her, she was at the temple when Ivor arrived and seemed just as well dressed as the priestesses. She did say she was coming here and perhaps she was a special guard just for the temple, someone that Tia could trust, “She looked strong.”

Tia’s eyes lit up as she nodded at him. Of course… convincing Dyna was going to be an issue, especially if Tia couldn’t explain her visions for her. And she would not put either of the twins at risk with that knowledge. Not until she was certain.

Tia and Ivor continued down the path as the small priestess stewed over how she would possibly get Dyna to agree to this expedition. Soon enough the jail was in sight, guards milling about. Tia watched as one of them, tall, perhaps around her age, in Lunarian armor, stepped out into the snow and directed another man with an unbothered motion. Tia looked up to Ivor and tapped on her notebook before gesturing to the man — he seemed to have some level of authority. Perhaps she could ask him to call out Dyna for them.

The thought of asking permission to enter the jail itself crossed her mind. She saw a pair of ghostly blue eyes. She glanced up at the spear strapped across Ivor’s back.

Tia shook her head, like she could dispel the thought. She buried her nose in her book and started writing.

Nerves made her pulse pick up as she glanced back at Ivor, like she might take some of his massive strength for her own. Then Tia forged ahead, towards the guard. Zeph paused mid-stride, his gaze locking onto a petite blonde who seemed to be making a beeline for him.

Giving a nervous wave to him as she approached, Tia stopped in front of him. She gave a little bow in greeting and held up the book when she straightened.

Excuse us, we were looking for a Champion of Aelios to help us with something. Have you seen her?

Zeph glanced up from the note, one brow raised. His gaze traveled past the woman to the hulking frame of a blight-born man behind her, a mountain of muscle towering over her. The dichotomy between them nearly pulled out a laugh, but he stifled it, simply offering a smile instead.

Focusing on the woman once more, he took her in, his gaze softening. She was small, with delicate features, and robes that marked her as one of Aelios’ own. For a moment, Zeph couldn’t help but wonder if the Prince had specifically assigned a blight-born brute to be her protector—and why were so many Sun-touched folk wandering through the camp lately anyway?

His gaze moved down her frame, noting the way the ends of her robes had gathered faint stains of mud along the bottom. What was a Priestess doing in a place like this? Surely, she could’ve sent her blight-born escort to track down her Champion.

His eyes moved upward again, pausing on the scarf wrapped around her neck. He’d heard the rumors—that the Aelios Priestess couldn’t speak—but he had expected the other guards to be joking due to how quiet she had been around them. Nonetheless, she was just as uniquely striking as they had described. Golden hair framed her face, reflecting back the torchlight, and big beautiful doe-like eyes looked up at him, full of hope.

She appeared softer than any Priestess he’d ever met; the Lunarian ones had always been cold, distant—nothing like the inviting warmth in this one's eyes.

“Well,” Zeph met her gaze, “You’re looking at the poor soul the Champion left in charge, I’m afraid.” he said lightly, his tone laced with a hint of playful exaggeration. “She went to fetch your Prince, I believe.” he shrugged nonchalantly, as though he wasn’t sure, or it didn’t matter much. The Priestess’ eyes widened.

“Is there somethin’ I can do for you instead, Firefly?”

Firefly? That probably should have been considered an insult, especially to a priestess, Ivor however found it terribly clever, causing a snort of laughter to briefly erupt. Tia jumped at the sound, looking back at him where he stood behind her. Zeph’s muscles tensed instinctively, his gaze flicking up to the blight-born, sharp and assessing, but the tension eased almost immediately.

Quickly composing himself, Ivor addressed the guard. “Oh! The priestess has a hard time with the speaking, so Ivor can answer this one! We are here seeking the armored lady, who brought the criminal man, so that she may join us on journey to crystal cave!” Ivor stopped to ponder, “but if armored lady is not here, then we must seek an alter- alte… someone else! Do you know someone who can help us to cross breadth of lake, navigate dark caves, swim frozen waters and maybe kill dangerous things on way?”

Zeph hadn’t expected a blight-born of Ivor’s stature to be so... jovial. It was disarming, in a way, and he found himself chuckling softly under his breath as the blight-born spoke with unrestrained enthusiasm.

The look in Tia’s eyes quickly went from alarm to panic as Ivor loudly announced the details of their unsanctioned expedition. While they were surrounded by guards. With the Prince possibly on his way here.

She looked back up at the guard, too nervous to allow herself to consider how tall he was, or his charming smile, or the way his voice lilted over his words (Firefly?). With Ivor’s mountainous form at her back, and the guard before her, Tia suddenly felt caught, held in place, with all of her misdeeds on display.

This had been a terrible idea.

She blinked up at him. Then she busied herself writing in her notebook, displaying another message.

Church matters.

Zeph’s brows shot up, clearly intrigued. “Church matters?” he echoed in disbelief, a grin tugging at his lips. Tia watched the way his hazel eyes seemed to sparkle with interest. “If I had known this was what the clergy did, I would've joined a long time ago.”

The ever tantalizing mistress of opportunity laid herself before him, offering a chance to leave this miserable camp behind, if only for a little while. He couldn't resist her—he rarely ever had. Besides, a healthy dose of chaos was good for the soul.

The information the prisoner had given him quickly fell to the wayside. Gadez’s intel grew laughably insignificant by the second—a waste of time when Volkov surely had better intelligence already. Volkov was Commander for a reason. What use was there in delivering scraps?

He opened his mouth to speak when, like clockwork, the distant clang of an alarm bell cut through air. Three rings—the town’s warning signal. The higher-ups were finally moving, likely on whatever Gadez had hinted at, he guessed.

His gaze flicked briefly over Firefly's shoulder as the alarm bells tolled in the distance, drawn to the sound, then his gaze settled on her again. “I know my way around a little trouble.” He smirked, glancing up at the lumberjack behind her. Tia felt her mind start working again as his gaze — his smirk — left her. When had her mind stopped working?

Oh no.

“I'm sure the Champion would be happy with me as her alternative.”

Ivor’s eyes squinted as he took in this man fully, he seemed capable enough, around the same height as Ivor, definitely young and definitely ‘alive’. “Hmmm I do not know this man,” Ivor stated bluntly, leaning towards the priestess, his voice lowered to a hushed yell. Tia blinked at his massive head, suddenly next to hers. “If armored lady chose this man to be in charge, he could be useful, but Ivor think he look a little scrawny.” If Ivor thought this man was scrawny, Tia hoped she never found out what he thought of her. Ivor locked eyes with Zeph, then looked back to Tia, “Ivor have test for guard,” then straightened up to his full height, walked forward, stood right in front of Zeph, looked down at him and said, “Punch Ivor.”

Zeph blinked, momentarily caught off guard. He let out a laugh, shaking his head. “You serious?” he asked, meeting Ivor’s crimson eyes. The seriousness in the man's expression answered the question for him.

Tia’s head popped out from behind Ivor’s back, a look of mild concern on her face as she held up her book.

You don’t have to punch Ivor.

Zeph looked to the Priestess and her neatly written note briefly, only offering her a mischievous smile before returning his attention to the blight-born. Her cheeks warmed as she retreated behind Ivor again.

For a moment, Zeph considered the proposition and studied him. Ivor was a behemoth, a fortress of raw strength and towering bulk. In contrast, Zeph—though only a few inches shorter—was all lean muscle and precision, more blade than battering ram. But a challenge was a challenge, and he never could resist one.

“Alright, big guy, if you insist,” Zeph said with a shrug, his grin returning as he began to undo his armored glove. Ivor matched Zeph’s grin, his muscles flexing taut. The cold air bit at Zeph’s bare hand as he slipped it free, flexing his fingers to get a feel for it. The Priestess’ head slowly poked back out, watching the way he moved.

Positioning himself, Zeph rolled his shoulders, loosening up. He planted his feet, his weight balanced as he sized Ivor up one last time. The man stood like a boulder, unmoving.

“Here goes nothing,” Zeph muttered, drawing in a breath, twisting his hips and snapping his arm forward in one fluid motion. His fist slammed into Ivor’s broad chest with everything he had, the force of it reverberating up Zeph’s arm, a satisfying thud resounding through the air. Tia flinched.

The guard who had taken up watch at the jail’s entrance watched on in utter disbelief.

Ivor barely moved as the fist slammed hard into his chest, a dull ache beginning to form. It was barely anything to faze the giant, the feeling more like accidentally walking to a wall than getting punched squarely. In a feat of strength Ivor would be the winner; but he wasn’t testing for that. A wide grin plastered on Ivor’s face as he chortled out in laughter, “HAH! HAHAHA! Very good! Anyone can say that armored lady left them in charge, but not everyone can look an adversary in eye and punch him square in chest! HAH!” Ivor clapped the man on his back with an open palm. Zeph staggered just slightly, the sheer force of it catching him off guard. He recovered quickly, laughing along with the giant. “Ivor like this one, he can come, what say you Miss Priestess?”

It was difficult to not be infected by Ivor’s joy, his wild exuberance. Tia felt a small, baffled smile growing on her face as she stepped out from behind him to look between the two men and their newly forged bond.

Perhaps this was a Lunarian custom.

She stilled under Ivor’s question though — the robes she wore suddenly felt much heavier, the weight of granted authority nearly causing her to falter. They were going on this expedition because of her, afterall. Tia looked back up to the guard, suddenly nervous for a different reason. If this venture went poorly, if they were punished for it…

Zeph’s expression softened as he refocused on Tia, catching the flicker of fear that passed through her doe-eyes. A hint of playfulness crept back in, and his hazel eyes took on a pleading, almost puppy-dog look—silently begging for her approval, for a chance to be welcomed into their inner circle.

After a moment of hesitation, Tia wrote another message. Then her eyes widened as she hurried to write again, before holding it up to him.

You should know we technically don’t have permission to do this.

Please don’t tell anyone.

Her note might have set someone else on edge, but for Zeph, it was like throwing a match into dry kindling. His old, irresistible lover purred in his ear. Trouble. The whisper of her promise was as tantalizing as ever, and a sly smirk tugged at his lips as he met the Priestess’s gaze once more.

“Well then,” he drawled, his voice dripping with playful confidence, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Looks like it’s your lucky day. I’m the best keeper of secrets you’ll find in the north.”

Oh, Tia was going to be in so much trouble. She blinked up at him. Tried to swallow around the lump in her throat.

Then she looked up at Ivor and gave a small nod.

And with that, the Priestess, the Barbarian, and the Guard departed for the crystal cave, the jail shrinking in the distance behind them. Lagging behind the two larger men, Tia looked back over her shoulder. Her skin prickled as she imagined phantom eyes watching her. The weight of the letter in her pocket was a heavy warning with each step. Taking a deep breath, she looked forward again, even as her nerves buzzed under her skin. She’d come this far — there was nothing to do but forge ahead.

Eris descended the steps of the royal home with swift, hurried movements, one hand gripping the folds of her dress to keep it from tangling beneath her feet. Her heart thrummed nervously in her chest. She needed to find Priestess Tingara—and fast.

As her boots struck the wooden floor of the main hall, fragmented memories of her first meeting with Tia flashed through her mind. Tia’s face, pale and streaked with blood after her ordeal with Willis. The jagged scar marring her neck. The steam from the hot springs wrapping around them like a veil, and Tia’s delicate fingers tracing letters into her palm, urging her to study Willis’ blood. The vividness of those moments had clung to her ever since.

Instinctively, her hand slipped into the pocket of her coat, curling around hairpins Tia had left behind at the hot spring. Eris had intended to return them, but the blizzard had prevented it. The smooth, cool metal of the pins felt grounding in her palm, a tether to focus her frayed nerves. She fiddled with them as her free hand tugged her hood up as she stepped outside, shielding herself from biting cold and prying eyes.

She strode through the streets with hurried steps, trying to ignore the heightened activity around her. Guards moved in clusters, their armor clinking in the dim light of torches. Voices carried in the air, sharp with urgency. Somewhere out there, a murderous blight-born prowled the streets.

Rising panic clawed at her thoughts. She drew a deep breath, her lungs burning as she tried to steady herself. She needed to stay focused.

Tia. She needed Tia.

Guilt pressed heavy against her chest at the thought. Asking something so monumental of the Priestess again felt cruel, especially knowing how drained Tia had been after saving that boy. This would demand almost as much. But this was the Princess. And together, it might lessen the blow. Eris could offer her mana, bolster Tia’s magic. They could do it. They had to.

Doubt slithered through her mind, curling into every corner. She saw her brother’s disappointed face in her mind’s eye, his familiar frown cutting deeper into her confidence. She clenched her jaw and made a silent prayer to Aelios for her support.

The toll of a bell shattered the air, three heavy strikes that sent her heart lurching into her throat. She froze, her steps faltering as her eyes darted toward the town’s center, where the alarm bell stood. Distant shouts of guards calling for order reached her ears. Her hand tightened around the hairpins in her pocket as her breath hitched, trembling fingers gripping the metal like a lifeline.

For a moment, fear threatened to root her in place. Then she exhaled a shaky breath, forcing herself to move.

She had a mission. She had to trust that the guards would handle the threat. The guards were vigilant, the streets alive with their light and noise. She would be fine.

Wouldn’t she?

---

The Eye of the Beholder

---

Wasn’t it just right that the majority had such a difficult time offering any more than the barest of pretences at acting as though blightborn were still properly human? Inhuman appearances aside, if a creature could speak and a creature could offer its own opinion, did its opinion not have some relevance? Insofar as the man who had just called her ‘pet’ seemed concerned, an animal’s opinion could be useful, but not worthy. Thinking of it, his apology rang not like the condolences of a man to a woman, but of a platitude offered in light of the unnecessary mistreatment of something else. Because it was wrong, after all, to beat a dog or to berate a cat when it wasn’t doing much of anything.

This was a stranger conclusion, really, than anything Nesna had anticipated. Being treated and viewed as a subhuman monster largely incapable of self-control was familiar, as familiar as being treated as a human was, really. But this was an unexpected middle ground—and one which she had received from none of the other people she’d interacted with. Zeph, of course, had started there, but quickly determined there was a human under the demonic skin. Sya, a blightborn herself, was nothing but businesslike and cordial. The commander was as uninterested in what she had to say as any normal person would be in the squawking of a crow. And Guard Kain? He certainly regarded her as a cognizant, intelligent being—simply a malevolent one. Afflicted human, different human, worthless creature, and demon. Each of these were categories that made sense—ones that Nesna knew how to fit herself into, uncomfortable as doing so may be in some cases.

So caught up in her thoughts was Nesna that she perked up with quite a delay after Guard Kain whispered her name and issued his warning. She shot a brief, darting look to the door as the guard marched out, and then shook her head softly with a sigh as he walked away. She’d only caught the second half of it clearly. A threat. Perhaps Guard Kain was closer in opinion to his commander than she had thought. This category was a complex one—one almost certainly motivated by the fact that as far as they were concerned, she was most like a talking polar bear. Intelligent enough to speak, but not worth speaking with—entirely too dangerous to approach.

Dangerous.

That was a funny word.

Nesna dipped her spoon into the broth and gingerly brought the hot liquid to her lips. After blowing, she took a sip.

It was almost funny, really, to imagine a dangerous beast, like a talking demonic polar bear delicately approaching a hot chicken broth as if it were made of hot coals. In another life, it would have been an insult, a bland disappointment reserved for the ill. And yet now, it was a perplexing, rare flavour. Nesna hadn’t had anything of the sort in the greater part of a decade. Raw animal blood, still warm as it flowed out of a neck, now felt more familiar than a simple soup known across the world. Perhaps that suggestion that she was just a beast clinging to a veneer of civility held some merit. She had done it to survive. But wasn’t that what animals did?

Without any conversation to be had, it was easy to scarf down food like a dog, even if one took only the smallest, most careful of spoonfuls at a time.

…

The bards were playing an Aurelian tune, and the inn was now under lockdown for the recent attack. And of course, she had just barely arrived before its announcement—without Zeph here to exonerate her to boot. Guard Kain was sure to revel in the potential. With a frown, Nesna looked around the tavern. Sya—the serpentine innkeeper—was back downstairs. She’d changed quite fast, and what a…revealing outfit she’d chosen. Seluna’s mercy, just what sort of inn was this, exactly?

Nesna set her spoon back in the half-emptied bowl and held her bowl in one hand, drink in the other, and quietly reached down with her tail and wrapped it around the handles of her bag. Suddenly, she slipped into the shadow under the bar and shadow-stepped into the seat nearest to Sya. Sitting just the same way, her tail released its gentle hold on the bags and slithered back into her dress. Nesna set down her bowl and cup as if nothing had happened and turned to look at Sya.

“I gather the day is going poorly for everyone here,” she began. At first, the way she spoke made it sound as if she was delivering a cold, indifferent observation. As Nesna shifted into the rest of her commentary, her voice slowly melted, as if it was an active thawing that she was undertaking to match her tone with her words. She sighed, tilted her head, and gave Sya a sympathetic frown, adding “Has this sort of thing happened often? Is there anything we need anticipate?”

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